


I keep on dying, Because I love to live

by Quiet_Constellation



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Constellation/pseuds/Quiet_Constellation
Summary: It’s a house like many others. White picket fence, the paint job being eaten by years of sun and water damage.In the backyard, an old swing set miraculously holds up, rust slowly breaking it apart.When her fingers start dissolving, she doesn’t know if she’ll remember any of it, so she clings to it tooth and nail.As she stares at the fence, desperately gasping for air, she catches a glimpse of her parents writing. Staring back at her, a growth chart stands, obsolete heights and long forgotten friendships carved into the wood.Everything will be okay.All she needs to do is remember.--------Childhood friends AU where Peter and MJ are next door neighbors. Somewhat canon compliant!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Quick disclaimer I'm going to do something a little bit different with this fic and have chapters written exclusively from either MJ or Peter's pov. I'm mostly done with it too so expect updates regularly!

  
It’s a house like many others. White picket fence, the paint job being eaten by years of sun and water damage, a hoop above the garage door.   
In the backyard, an old swing set miraculously holds up, rust slowly breaking it apart.   
  
She’s lived there all her life. She knows the smell of her father’s coffee maker in the morning, the kiss her mom places on her head when she thinks she’s asleep at night. The rays of sunshine hitting the washed out wallpaper just right, and the sound of her grandmother gently snoring on the porch.   
  
It’s almost in her DNA at this point. Memories of people coursing through her veins, all seventeen years of it.   
  
When her fingers start dissolving, she doesn’t know if she’ll remember any of it, so she clings to it, tooth and nail, literally. Well, _figuratively._   
  
As she stares at the fence, desperately gasping for air, she catches a glimpse of her parents writing. Staring back at her, a growth chart stands, obsolete heights and long forgotten friendships carved into the wood.   
  
Everything will be okay.   
All she needs to do is remember.   
  
Just remember.   
  
Remember.   
  
Remem- 

_Peter, Age 12, 4’11_

_Michelle, Age 12, 5’2_   
  



	2. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright my eyes are crusty with sleep to the point where I can't make sense of any of the words so hopefully, this is good enough!

  
“Are you sure the ball’s in there?”

  
She stares him down. It’s a good thing her growth spurt happened before his because he kind of cowers under her glare, but it’s not like she needed it anyway. He’s always been terrible at shooting hoops, and today is not going to be any different.

“Yes, I’m sure! Now quit squirming and help me get it. Your arm is skinnier than mine.”

Peter frowns, his mouth stretching in disgust, but she doesn’t budge.   
She knows the routine by now, he’s been doing it since they were eight.

First, he’ll stare at her with his kicked puppy eyes, emphasized by glasses too big for his face.   
Then, he’ll let his lip quiver slightly.   
And he’ll finish with a classic:

“Do we really need to?”

She rolls her eyes.   
Five years of this.

“Come on, Peter. You really think that’s going to work on me?”

He sighs.

“I had to try.”   
“Dork.”

He squats down, arm extended all the way under the rack, and for a second she feels almost bad.   
The garage is not the cleanest place in their house, and he’s definitely bound to find a few unpleasant things under that shelf.   
He yelps.

  
“Something just crawled on my hand!”   
“What?! Like...a rat, or a spider?”

Only one of those two things will be remotely okay.

“Sp-Spider! Big Spider!” he just screams, and she feels the chill go straight through her spine.   
“On second thought, I don’t need to play ball that bad!” she replies, trying to keep her composure.

A blurry dot moves across the floor, and they jump in unison.

“Oh, GROSS!”

They’re already on the other end of the backyard when they catch their breath,  and it takes them another couple of seconds to let the feeling of a looming threat vanish.   
She lets herself fall to the ground, her hands clawing at the grass, and she laughs.

“That was dumb.”   
“Well, you’re dumb!” he replies breathlessly.   
“Wow, what a burn, Peter!”   
“Whatever, you love it!”

She smiles, closing her eyes. Maybe she does.

“Oh, by the way, Mom asked if I could stay over next weekend.”   
“Another twenty-four-hour shift?” he asks, his head lying against her thigh.   
“Yeah.”

He opens his eyes, brows furrowed in her direction.

That’s the issue with having a built-in best friend. They know you better than you want them to.

“How many is that this month?”   
“It’s okay, I don’t wanna talk about it.”   
“You sure?”   
“Hm.”

It’s hard enough being the weirdest thirteen-year-old kid in their grade, she doesn’t need him to pity her too.

“I was thinking we could go over _King Lear,_ ” she says.   
“Again?”   
“What, do you want to read _The Great Gatsby_ and _Catcher in the Rye_?”

He groans.   
“Please don’t ask me what the green light stands for again…”

She snickers.   
“Fine,” he sighs, “but you have to quiz me on Algebra.”   
“Deal.”

They sit in silence for a while, her fingers itching to play with his hair like she used to when they were younger.

It’s funny how things change.

And by funny, she means terrifyingly awkward. Now she’s all too aware of where her hands go, of how his lips stretch into a thin smile and how his teeth don’t quite line up.

She’s taller than him. Taller than everyone, actually. Which means standing out, in more ways than she was used to, and she hates every bit of it.   
They look weird, side by side. Their classmates sort of make fun of them behind their back, and it’s bumming her out, big time. She knows it’s better to ignore the quips and rise above, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

She’s taken up on her Nana’s advice. Reading helps. She doesn’t have to stare at the others and more importantly, they don’t have to stare at her. She can become invisible, forget that lanky body made of elbows and clumsy run-ins. _Blend in the background,_  her Nana had said, _but don’t forget you can shine brighter than any of them._

She looks at Peter’s freckles, half hidden under his glasses, and she sighs.

At least they can be wallflowers together.   
****

**~ &~**

Her hair is a mess.

  
It’s a Saturday night like any other: spent hanging out at the Parker house, fighting over her own mane.

Typical.

She tugs on her hair tie, carefully trying to detangle the mess she’s made, and tends to happen when her mother isn’t here to check that she’s doing her night routine properly.

She shouldn’t be mad. She’s more than happy to have the house to herself, really, she is. She’s only staying at Peter’s because Ben and May wouldn’t let her be by herself.

They’re kind of sweet, as far as old married couples go. Which, _gross_.

“You’ doing okay over there?” Peter asks, his attention focused on a model kit of the large hadron collider.   
“Yeah, just got a knot in my hair.”

She sighs. It’s time to give up. She takes the pins, slowly, one by one, lining them up on the Toy Story bed cover.   
She doesn’t look in the mirror. She already knows it’s going to be a mess, and Peter’s rounded eyes are the only confirmation she needs.   
He opens his mouth, as if to say anything, and closes it almost immediately.   
    
“What?” she says, no, snarls.   
“I-uh, nothing,” he replies, and she rolls her eyes.

Boys.

She sits back on his bed, pulling out her notebook. Peter is a good guinea pig when he’s focused, so she ends up drawing him quite often.   
Over the years, she’s become quite acquainted with the planes of his face, with the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck, but she never tires of drawing it.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and May’s head peaks through.

“Everything okay in there?”   
“Hmm,” Is the only answer she’ll get. They’re both way too enthralled in their respective tasks.

Peter’s aunt steps in, towering over MJ’s artwork. Her first instinct is to hide it, but she’s not quick enough. May’s surprisingly nimble for her age, and she grabs the sketchbook enthusiastically.

“Oh, Michelle, you’re getting better every day!”

She grimaces.

“Yeah… they’re just doodles.”

May gives her a look.

“They’re not just doodles, look at them!” she says as she flips the pages.

May slows down, a crease forming in between her eyebrows, and MJ feels her stomach twist into a knot.   
It’s not hard to picture what May might be thinking. Of the fifty pages she’s covered in art, most of them are scribbles of her nephew.   
She looks at MJ, then Peter, who’s still bent over his model kit.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” MJ says a bit too quickly.   
“MJ, wait! I didn’t mean…” May starts, but she’s already out of the door.

She walks so quickly that she ends up bumping into Ben, coming out of the kitchen with his apron covered in marinara sauce and a big, steaming pot.

“Oh, shoot!” he yells, but it’s already too late.

Her shirt gets the worst of it, and all of a sudden she gets a pretty graphic flashback to that one time both Peter and her hid to watch _Carrie_ at her house.

Yikes.

“Crap! I’m so sorry, kiddo!” Ben curses.

May’s head peaks out Peter’s door.

“What’s going on? — Oh, my God!”   
“It’s just marinara, honey.”   
“Where’s the seltzer?” May asks, already running to the cupboards.   
“What seltzer?” Ben answers, brows frowning,   
“What’s going o— Oh wow,” Peter says, coming out of his bedroom.

MJ glares at him.

“Ben, the _seltzer_!”   
“Again, what Seltzer?”   
“The one I put on the grocery list last week! You know!” May adds.   
“Oh, _that_ seltzer,” Ben replies with a wry smile, and MJ stifles a laugh.   
“Yes! I can’t find it anywhere.”   
“I used it for my science project,” Peter answers sheepishly, and May turns to him in one slow motion.

MJ snickers. No, she laughs.   
Typical Saturday at the Parker’s.   
****

**~ &~**

  
“Here,” Peter says, holding up a frayed tee-shirt.   
“Thanks,” she answers.

  
On it, the fading logo of one Iron Man point at the sky, and she blinks, staring at it in surprise.

_Peter’s favorite tee-shirt._

Memories of the town fair, of them fighting over corndogs only to throw them up after a rollercoaster ride come back to her in waves.   
She smiles.

She'd won the shirt fair and square, but he'd been so grumpy for the rest of the afternoon that she'd ended up giving it to him.   
After all, she'd exclaimed, she wasn't much of a Tony Stark fan.

A vision of her mom, laughing till her eyes cried out suddenly flashes before her eyes.

Her throat closes up.

“I think my parents are getting a divorce,” she blurts out.   
“Oh, Uh. Oh,” he answers, and she rolls in her blanket in frustration.   
“Nevermind. Just go to sleep.”   
“No! I mean… I’m so so—”   
“I’m actually... kind of relieved.”

He gives her a look, and she takes a deep breath.

“I feel like… If they don’t, you know, build their whole schedule to not be at home at the same time, I might actually get to see them.”   
“Is that what’s going on right now?” he asks in a small voice, so small that she feels her throat tighten.

It’s been a while since she’s smelled the coffee maker or felt the kiss of her mom on her forehead.   
And yeah, she’s fourteen, so she should revel in all the free time she gets.

She should be happy. She gets to spend every other night eating peanut butter m&m’s with Peter, going over their homework, making plans and beating his ass at basketball.

She should be happy.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” she finally admits.   
“That sucks.”   
“Yeah,” she says, her voice strangled.

There’s a hand reaching for hers under the covers, and she takes it.   
Because he can’t see her, and because she’s tired of pretending nothing fazes her, she lets the tears come out.

She cries for herself, for her mom and for her dad. She cries for the changes that have yet to come, and the final string of innocence she’s lost.   
His hand hugs hers tighter.   
****

**~ &~**

Her parents split up. It’s messy, it’s ugly, and she spends most of her time at Peter’s, staring at the ceiling while they both pretend they can’t hear the shouting, or visiting her Nana in the hospice.

  
They’re almost ready to graduate. In a couple of months, everything will be different. They’ll strut around Midtown High, she’ll get her own life on track, maybe sign up for a few clubs, who knows? Maybe this time, they won’t be the weirdest people there.

They might even make more friends. It sure wouldn’t hurt them.   
They’re old enough for everyone around them to start asking questions, and it’s starting to scare her a little.

So what? They hang out together a lot and she happens to be a girl. He happens to be a guy. He’s still the same kid that burnt off his left eyebrow trying to make homemade firecrackers.

They’re. Just. Friends.   
****

**~ &~**

“Hey, do you want to go to the formal with me?” he asks, mouth full of cereal as they’re staring at May’s TV.

It’s a Friday afternoon like any other, and they’re watching the _Princess Bride_ for what must be the hundredth time.

“What, why?!”

He shrugs.

“I don’t know, I just thought we could go, as friends, you know.”

As friends. Yeah. Yep, that checks out.   
She doesn’t like him that way, thank God.

“Aren’t you scared of going with someone who can use you as an armchair?”   
“At least I know I’ll be useful.”

She coughs.

“Dork.”   
“So? Yes or No?”   
“Alright.”   
“Cool. Coolcoolcoolcool.”

Wesley’s whispering a thousand ‘as you wish’ to Buttercup, but she’s suddenly not paying that much attention.   
May gives her a look.   
****

**~ &~**

They’re going to their eighth-grade dance together. As friends.   
And she doesn’t like him that way. Not one bit.

Still, when he shows up at her door, wearing a shirt he doesn’t quite fill, holding a corsage that matches with the dress her mom is making her wear, there’s a hint of something.

She writes it down as curiosity.

She’s just curious. That’s all there is to it.

“Okay, we’re going to have a problem here,” she says, glaring at the dancefloor.

The band is playing ridiculously slow tunes, and it’s like a heteronormative nightmare in there.   
Everyone’s coupled up, barely moving, heads resting on shoulders.

He looks at her.

“Do you hear slow songs?”   
“Uh, Yeah.”   
“Because I don’t.”

She frowns.

“What?”

He takes out his phone, his earbuds still plugged in, and gives her one.

“You came prepared,” she says, slightly impressed.   
“Well, yeah,” he laughs, pressing play.

The song is a jam, and pretty soon, she completely forgets about the rest of their classmates, too busy busting out dance moves with him.   
He takes her hand, spinning her around clumsily, and she laughs.   
This is so much better than she thought it would be.

“You’re bad at this, dude,” she cackles, and he closes his eyes, hips swaying.   
“I can’t hear you!”  

She lets curiosity win.   
Yeah, Next year will be different.   
****

**~ &~**

Everything is different.   
Everything is different, in a thousand horrible ways.

  
Ben’s funeral is the worst thing they’ve ever had to go through. Peter’s eyes are fixated on the floor, tears rolling down his cheeks, and all she knows to do is give him all the tissues she’s not currently using.   
He holds her hand so tight.   
She can’t leave.   
She wants to say she doesn’t want to, and that she’ll never do that to him. That they’re best friends still, and that everything will be okay.

The words get stuck in her throat.

When they get back to May’s, they end up sitting at the end of the lawn, something they haven’t done since they were twelve.   
He stares at her, eyes still red, and for a second, she puts her own rule aside and hugs him. There’s nothing to say. She’s not a teenage girl, and he’s not a teenage boy. They’re just two friends hurting, and she doesn’t care if tomorrow’s weird for them. She needs this as much as he does.

  
**~ &~**

  
He’s not wearing his glasses anymore. He’s not slouching under the weight of his backpack, and she has the distinct impression he’s now _pretending_ to be bad at shooting hoops. She’s also pretty sure he’s filling up, and yes she’s read about puberty, she knows that bodies change, thank you very much. But there’s a difference between your skin acting up and your voice betraying you in the worst ways possible, and suddenly running a mile without sweating.

Which, newsflash, is bad for her.

Because she likes him.   
She likes him a lot more than she thought she did.

And it sucks in a major way, because he doesn’t like her. Not like that anyway.   
No, he likes Liz.

And she can’t blame him. She’s great. She’s tall, she’s nice to everyone, even Flash, and she’s incredibly smart. Liz is the kind of girl you want your parents to meet. Hell, she’d want her mom to meet Liz. He looks at her like she’s the sun, and MJ now stands in the shadows.

There’s truly nothing she can do about it except try to not look at him too much.   
Which is, you know, hard when the window of her bedroom lines up with his.

Their schedules don’t even line up that much anymore, especially since he quit band and robotics club and she’s too busy keeping up with her advanced classes.   
So she decides, rather arbitrarily, that she simply needs to stop talking to him.

When he asks a question, she nods.   
When he turns the light of his bedroom on and off again, using their old signal, she pretends to be asleep.   
When he sits down at lunch, she sits further away. Lucky for her, Ned Leeds decides he’s going to be Peter’s new best friend.

Soon, he stops responding to her texts as well, and she starts hearing excited whispers from his bedroom and lego crashing on the floor. Good for him.

He still throws her concerned looks, from time to time, and she ignores every single one of them.   
****

**~ &~**

“My friends call me MJ.”

  
When she speaks up,  her eyes automatically fly to him, and he holds her gaze. She hopes he understands what she’s trying to say.   
She’s always sucked at apologies.

He nods, and she gives him the smallest smile.   
****

**~ &~**

  
They’re still not as close as they used to be. It probably doesn’t help that she pretends not to know where he escapes every other night. Quite frankly, she’s surprised no one else has figured it out yet.   
He is the worst liar she’s ever seen. He’s too open, too kind.

Still, she’s happy to be included again.   
Even if it’s just to cast a dirty look from behind her book when Peter and Ned start fawning over dorky stuff.

“Hey MJ, can you toss me that hat?” Ned says, and she turns to him with a blank look on her face.   
“It’s for Betty. I wanna look good for my date.”

“I thought you didn’t want to blow this one up?”

Peter elbows her in the ribs, gently enough that she has to pretend it hurt.

“Ow, careful! I’m not as indestructible as you.”

Both Ned and Peter exchange panicked glances, and for a second she wants to bask in the glory that is her mind. Instead, she decides to show mercy.

“Like, remember that time you bumped your head against that telephone pole in sixth grade? That was fun!”   
His shoulders seem to relax a little, and he sighs.   
“It was only fun for you!”

She grins at Ned, and adds:

“He had a bump on his forehead the size of a magic eight ball. For _weeks._ ”   
“No way, dude!”   
“I think I have a picture of it at home...’ she smirks, and Peter just glares at her.   
“Please don’t,” he says.   
“Please do!” Ned answers.

She gets up, dusting off imaginary lint from her pants.

“Leeds needs to see this, Peter. I’m only the messenger.”   
“I hate you.”

She turns around and winks -winks!- at him.

“No, you don’t.”   
****

**~ &~**

‘ _Hey, MJ. Hope you’re feeling better today! Really sucks that you’re sick on our MoMa trip. I’ll try to take pictures for you!’_   
_‘With what_   
_your broken camera_   
_or your broken phone’_   
_(I’m good btw. Thanks for asking)_

  
She sees him type, over and over.

‘ _I know this is probably not the best way_   
_to ask_   
_But_   
_Do you_   
_Maybe_   
_Wanna go on a_   
_D-’_

She doesn’t get to read the rest of the message.   
Her phone drops to the floor.   
Above her, a gigantic spaceship takes up all the space in the sky.   
 


	3. Like moths to a flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that chapter was a bit of a struggle to write so...I hope you'll like it! The next one should be a little shorter and I'm still working on it, so... it might be a little while before the next update!

The first thing he remembers is falling.  
He’s not breathing, or hurting. Just...Hurling through the stars.

He feels nothing. There’s no sound, no wind on his face, no tears coming out of his eyes.

Everything is dark around him.

He has a vague memory of being scattered, his body dropping to ashes as he grabs someone’s shoulders while sinking to his knees. No matter how hard his fingers clutch to the metal plates, he feels himself wither away with one overwhelming thought ringing in his ears.

He’s not ready to go.   
****

**~ &~** 

 

He thought that if he ever were to come back, it’d be piece by piece.   
The reality of it is closer to sand being molded into shape by a petulant child.   
One second he’s floating in the nothingness, and the other he’s being spat out from the Hudson River, water spewing out of his mouth.

When he takes his first step, his legs are wobbly, and his mouth tastes like iron.

His brain seems to be yelling something, but he can’t quite place what. _Weird_. His lungs feel small, like he hasn’t bothered to use them in a while, and quickly start burning.

Oh. _Breathe_. That’s what his brain was trying to tell him.

The first gulp of air is unbelievably painful.

As soon as he exhales, things start rushing back in, things like the myriad of ways the human body and soul get to experience pain.

He doesn’t really get to dwell on it for too long, because he gets grabbed by Strange like a stray cat, and thrown right back into action. He does his best throwing punches, stars dancing in front of his eyes, everything around him still too blurry and bright.

People next to him, other Avengers, fight like it’s the last battle, so he assumes it is.

And in the midst of all this, he gets a hug, but no goodbye. Tony draws his last breath and his heart shatters in a million pieces.

It’s too much. His head is spinning, his throat is closing up, and tears keep rolling down his cheeks, unstoppable.

For an instant, he regrets the peacefulness of his nonexistence.   
And then, once his heartbeat settles, once he’s back on his feet and Pepper holds his hand so tight his knuckles are white, he sees it.   
Emerging from the smoke and dust, New York.

_His_ city. And he remembers the rest.

His friends, his family. Delmar’s bodega and the overpriced gummy worms. The Lego death star, Ned’s secret handshake, MJ’s small smile as she gets appointed team captain. May’s hug before he gets on the bus, and how neither of them knew it was their last one.

May.   
****

She must be worried sick.

**~ &~** 

  
He rings the bell, fully prepared for her to be mad at him, hands gesturing wildly as some Italian curse words spit out of her mouth. But when the door opens, he’s faced with confusion and a hint of horror.

“Peter?!”   
“Sorry, I’m late,” is all he manages to say.

His voice is rougher than he expects it to be. He focuses on May’s bottom lip, trembling as she grabs hold of the door. Tears start filling her eyes and for a second, he’s worried that she’s not going to forgive him for disappearing on her, again.

Instead, every fiber of his body cries when May pulls him into a hug.

“I thought you were gone!”

Tears roll down his cheeks. Maybe they’re hers. Some of them are definitely his. May’s barely breathing, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, bringing him into as many hugs as humanly possible, and he lets it all go. He cries, burying his face in her embrace, just like he did when he first moved in with her.

He breathes out.   
He’s finally, finally home.   
****

**~ &~**

 

It’s only when she sits in the chair that he starts noticing it.

Her hair is greying in some places. Her face looks different, marked no doubt by stress, and perhaps loneliness.   
Something’s changed. She keeps staring at him like she’s seeing a ghost, and it’s scaring him a little.   
He rubs his chin with his hand, trying to make sense of it.   
It’s only when he sees the picture on the sideboard that he realizes something’s wrong.

In it, May’s smiling, holding Happy’s hand.   
Behind them, a banner proudly stands, the year 2023 spelled out in big blue letters.

His stomach sinks.

“May. _How long was I gone_?”   
****

**~ &~**

 

Five years.   
Five years of his life, gone.

It makes no sense.   
Or does it? They didn’t just get snapped away. They died. They all died.   
_He died_.

It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Someone, probably Tony, would have an explanation for that.   
But Tony’s gone, and all he’s left with are a million questions and a gaping hole in his heart.

As May cuts his hair in the bathroom he grew up in but barely recognizes, she tries to fill him up on things he’s missed.

Half of the original Avengers are now history.   
Both of his friends also disappeared.

His heart starts beating faster as May scribbles MJ’s new phone number on a piece of paper, and he stares at it for a while. There are things he wants to ask, things he wants to explain, but he barely has any idea of what happened himself.   
He thinks back to the last text he’s sent her, and as he looks at his bedroom window, he wonders if she’s ever had the time to read it.

“They’re in a cabin upstate,” May says when she catches his eye. “Family reunion, you know.”

He nods, looking down at the boxes stacked in front of him.

They’re stuffed with clothes, and old tokens, most of them outdated by now.   
Still, when he wraps himself in his old midtown science sweatshirt, he feels better. Like he’s on his way to being himself again.   
****

**~ &~**

 

_Hey, MJ_   
_It’s Peter_   
_Parker_   
_You know, your friendly neighborhood dork_   
_I hope everything is okay_   
_May gave me your new phone number_   
_I hope you’re doing okay!_   
****

**~ &~**

 

Ned’s face freezes in shock the minute he sees Peter’s silhouette in the hallway.   
Gone is their high school handshake, replaced with a hug that speaks volumes.

He breathes in, tears filling up his eyes.

“I’m so happy to see you, dude.”   
“Dude! You’re okay. We’re both okay,” Ned answers, slightly bewildered.

They hug one more time, because once doesn’t quite feel like enough.

“I wanted to come back sooner, but... I guess it’s not that easy to get your license renewed when you’ve been declared dead,” he says, smiling apologetically.

Ned wipes a tear from his eye.

“I can’t believe we’ve skipped five years of our lives to come back still officially below drinking age. That’s so unfair!”   
Peter grins, and Ned grins back.

They walk down the hall, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, and he suddenly realizes he has no idea of what his class schedule is, or who exactly has graduated, or disappeared.

“Was Betty…?” he starts, and Ned smiles, half happy, half sad.   
“Yeah. We were still on the bus when we got snapped. Things are still a little weird, but we’re making it work.”   
“Cindy? Abraham?”   
“Both in NYU.”   
“Flash?”

Ned sighs.

“Snapped.”

Peter groans. Just their luck. He thinks back to his phone and the string of messages he’s sent out over the past few days, all of them unanswered.

Fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he asks:

“Have you heard anything from MJ?”

Ned gives him a look. It’s a concerned one, with a hint of protectiveness.

“She’s doing… good, last I heard. She took the week off. It’s a lot to take in.”   
“Right. Right.”   
“Peter,” Ned says, his face all serious.

His brows furrow.

“What?”   
“Don’t just drop by unannounced. You almost killed me today, but MJ… She’ll most definitely kill _you_.”

Peter scoffs.

“I wouldn’t do that!”   
“I know! I’m just saying. Be careful! I’ve only just got you back, I don’t wanna say goodbye again!”

He laughs.

He can’t help but feel the hesitation in Ned’s voice, like he thinks Peter is capable of hurting her, which, quite frankly, is hilarious. Still, he promises.

“I’ll try to be.”

  
**~ &~**

 

He’s sitting in his empty bedroom when it hits him like a bag of bricks: They’ve all moved on, one way or another. Half of his old friends are now a full five years older, and the other half are clinging to this second chance with the intensity of moths drawn to a flame. 

 

He may be alive, but to half of the world, he’s been mourned and dealt with. He belongs to the past.

Does he even like the same things?   
His rolled-up Star Wars posters say otherwise. Funny how being thwarted in space for a couple of hours cured his science fiction fever.

He’s tried not to think about it too much, but the thought always comes back, and it always brings him back _there_.   
His lungs start feeling heavy, like he’s been underwater too long and he needs to breathe, but can’t.

Objectively, he knows he’s having a panic attack.   
That doesn’t help his brain to think he’s not dying.

He’s alone. He’s all alone, and he can’t even help anyone anymore. He’s hurt everyone in his life, going on that stupid spaceship.

_Ten._

Tony’s gone.

_Nine_.

Natasha’s gone.

_Eight._

He’s not ready to do this alone.

_Seven._

He’s too young.

_Six._

His phone buzzes, and he stares at it for a moment, his brain having a hard time making sense of the letters on the screen before answering.

“Hey, Loser.”

His heart skips a beat.

He gets up, looking at his window. Sure enough, MJ’s there, standing in front of hers.   
The wave of emotions he’s hit with makes everything stop spinning, and he takes a deep breath.

She’s there, she’s really there.   
He’s surprised to see how much she’s changed, while simultaneously not having changed at all.

His heart skips a beat.

“Hey, MJ.”   
“Long time, no see.”

He sighs. There’s always been something comforting about the sight of her in her old hoodie.

“Sorry,” she adds. ‘Bad reception in the cabin. I got your texts like, half an hour ago.’

He smiles.

“No problem.”

She grabs a basketball, the one they’ve both signed when they were ten, and spins it around.

“Wanna play?” she says, her eyebrow cocked.

He beams.

“I thought you’d never ask.”   
****

**~ &~**

 

They don’t hug, or cry. Instead, she just tosses the ball to him, and he tosses it right back to her.   
There’s a thousand things he wants to tell her, but he settles for a look he hopes says it all.

_I’ve missed you._   
_I’m happy you’re here, but I’m sad you had to go too._   
_Oh, and also. I like, really like you. Like, an embarrassing amount._

The old board still stands, the net half torn, the hoop a little more bent than it was five years ago.   
It’s weird to see how much their houses have aged when they haven’t.

She dribbles a bit, the ball hitting the cement with a satisfying sound. It’s the sound of their childhood, one spent fighting each other only to make up half a second later, one made of scratches, chalk drawings and birthday parties.

He steps in, and she steps back, a sly smile on her face.

“How do you still suck at this!?” she asks, and he chuckles.   
“Because I play by the rules, and you’re the biggest cheater I’ve ever met?”

He moves to grab the ball, but she jumps around, keeping the ball in her hands the whole time.

“Such a boy scout.”   
“Oh yeah?”

He takes a step to the side, and she feigns going forward, so he just goes with what his reflexes tell him to. Which basically means body slamming her in order to get the damn ball. They fall to the ground in a mess of shoulders and elbows, MJ refusing to let the ball drop. He tugs at it, and she erupts in laughter.

“How— Can you be— so bad— at this!” she cries, and he wants to be mad at her, but seeing her laugh again is making his heart sing.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Spider-Man, not Lebron James!”

She stares at him, and he realizes what he’s just done.   
So much for secrecy.

“Uh, I mean…”   
“You’d think those superpowers could at least help you _dunk,_ ” she replies before he gets the chance to come up with a convincing lie.   
“Yeah, well. I’d have to get the ball from you, first, and you don’t play fair.”

She smiles, and he knows, he just _knows_ , that he could have all the superpowers in the world, she’d still win. He’s not equipped to resist her, he never has been.

“I’m happy you’re back, you know,” he blurts out, and her eyes soften.   
“I’m happy you’re back too,” she looks away. “You had me worried for a hot sec.”

He grins.

“I’m never gone for long.”   
“Define long.”   
“Between ten minutes and five years?”

She laughs.

“Sounds about right.”

She blows hair out of her face, letting it fall around her in a crown of sun rays. Which makes sense, because he’s been known to orbit around her.

“Hey, Peter?” she whispers, a bit too low for him to hear.   
“Yeah?” he replies, his throat getting choked up.   
“Your fly is down.”   
“What?!”

She wiggles out from under him, grabbing the ball in the quarter of a second it takes him to make sure she’s lying.

“Hey! Cheater!”

He grabs her arm, while she laughs, trying to take a shot.

“That’s on you, Pete. You’re wearing sweatpants.”

The ball circle the hoop, falling down in a bouncy thud.

“Still got it!” she says, and he smiles.

She definitely does.

**~ &~**

 

Gently, carefully, his life resumes. Crime never fully stops in New York, and he ends up wearing the suit much sooner than he thought he would.

The first few weeks feel off, like he’s only playing at being a hero.   
But slowly, with the help of his friends, he gets back up again.

New York may need Spider-Man.   
But Peter? He needs _them_.

He could worry about criminals all day, and come back exhausted to an empty room.   
Instead, he climbs back in his bedroom to find Ned and MJ, one usually asleep, the other reading quietly.   
Everything feels in the right place.   
 


	4. Hanging in the midnight air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Finally finished that fic! Let me know if the formatting feels weird because I've finally realized google docs / AO3 are not friends when it comes to line spacing so.. I might end up going back to fix the other chapters!  
> Many thanks to Birdie, who was kind enough to beta this <3, and I hope you'll like this!

And so life starts again. As expected, there are bad days, and there are good days.   
Days where she doesn’t know up from down, where seeing new kids in school bother her more than it should.   
Days when she can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.   
    
But in between the hard parts, she gets a glimpse of hope.   
    
They all hang out - Betty, Ned, Peter and her, a tightly knit group of friends going through the same motions. Frowning at the same curriculum changes -How can maths even change? It’s _maths_!- and catching up on all the TV they’ve missed.   
    
They start holding hands under the lunch table. Ned and Betty, that is. And walking home together, despite not living even remotely close to one another.   
    
When she looks at their linked fingers, or at the blanket Ned lays on Betty when she inevitably falls asleep at 10 P.M, her heart clenches.   
    
People talk about soulmates. About someone being right for them, and feeling ‘it’ in their gut.   
Movies, books, even songs say there’s nothing like feeling like you belong with another person until they become your always, or forever, or whatever dumb slogan works best at the moment.   
    
It makes her roll her eyes, because she’s got two parents who were absolutely right for each other, until they weren’t.   
    
People change, and often not at the same speed.   
    
_There’s nothing like first love_ , Ned had said with an air of wisdom.   
    
She’d shrugged then, and she shrugs now.   
    
Her first love is the boy next door; the same kid who used to hold back tears when he got a scrape, and now holds an entire city on his shoulders. She highly doubts he’s got time to date anyone, let alone her.   
    
She’s told herself she’s fine with observing from the sidelines. That she’d already lost Peter once, and doesn’t plan on losing him again.   
Still, when she’s plucking feathers from the duvet she’s sitting on, staring at his science fair posters, and he looks at her in between two tinkers on his suit, there’s _something_.   
    
Something on the corner of his lips, something she reads as an ocean of possibilities.   
    
A first date.   
A first kiss.   
A first love.   
    
She reads it as clearly as she would her anthropology book:    
It’s a  flicker of hope, and she can’t help but cling to it.   
    
Maybe one day they’ll be the ones holding hands under the lunch table.

  
    
**~ &~**

    
It’s not like she doesn’t expect it.   
It’s college. It’s their own future, of course they’ll both move out.   
Still, when she overhears May scream from her kitchen, she jumps out.    
    
He’s been accepted by all of his top choices, which isn’t really surprising.   
He’s smart, he’s nice, and not-so-secretly an actual hero. Any university would be lucky to have him.   
    
She stares down at her desk drawer. In it, a half ripped envelope stares back, daring her to take another look.   
    
A nagging feeling sets in her stomach, similar to a snake gently making its way around her insides.   
    
She closes her eyes.   
She thought they’d have more time.   
****

 

**~ &~**  

  

They’re sitting side by side, the wind pushing the swings slowly. Around them, the world stays quiet, and she’s quieter, even.   
She pushes the burnt grass of her mom’s backyard with her foot, chewing on her lip.   
    
“So...NYU?” he finally asks.   
“Yup. MIT?” she answers.   
“Yup.”   
    
She nods, staring at the ground in silence. It’s not even hot outside anymore, and the sun is gently going down, but she feels his eyes on her and it burns like a thousand suns.   
    
She wants to tell him to stop. She’s already gotten her hopes up, and it’s bad.   
    
Because she promised. She promised herself she wouldn’t do this, cling to him, anymore.   
They’re going to graduate in a few months, and then Peter will move to Boston, while she’ll stay in New York.   
Soon, they won’t be neighbors, they won’t be friends, and they won’t be anything.   
    
It’s the way life goes. People change. People move on.

She wants to move on. 

She looks at Peter, his profile defined by the light of the golden hour, a loose curl falling on his forehead, and she takes a long breath.   

She needs to move on.   
    
“This is going to be weird, not living next door,” he mutters.   
“Yeah.”   
“Are you going to move out?”   
“With what money?” she chuckles, a sad strangled sound. Sadder than she wants it to be.   
“Oh, right.”   
    
He gives her a look.   
    
“MJ?”    
“Yeah?”   
“I- There’s something I wanna tell you.”   
    
_Don’t say it._   
_Don’t ruin it._   
    
She can feel her brain spiraling again, and none of those thoughts bouncing back in her head bring her any comfort.    
    
“I, uh-I…”   
    
“Do you want ice cream?’ she blurts out. “I kind of want ice cream.”   
    
He looks at her, brows furrowed, and she wants to slap herself.   
“Uh… sure.”   
“Stay here, there’s some in the freezer.”   
    
When she gets up, she tries not to notice the sad frown on his face.   
    
It’s a hint of something, and there’s no time left to explore it.

  
**~ &~**

 

She bounces the ball around with more anger than she needs to. Her front lawn is dark and quiet, save for the presence of one Ned Leeds, standing uncomfortably on the sidewalk.   
    
“Catch!” she says, throwing the ball at him.   
    
Ned grabs it easily, and he asks.

“Am I doing this right? Because we can totally do something else while we wait for Peter to-”   
“You’re already way better than he ever was, chill.”   
    
Ned grins.

“Really?”   
    
She shrugs.

“He’s always been the worst.”   
“Yeah, right.”

They toss the ball at each other, back and forth, pretending not to notice the Peter-shaped void between them.   
The wait isn’t getting any easier. If anything, it’s getting more difficult. The blessed days where Peter only ever saved cats and helped old ladies cross the street are over. They were over the second he’d stepped on Titan.   
    
So they wait, Ned and her. Tossing the ball, back and forth.   
    
“How long have you guys known each other?” Ned suddenly asks, and she grimaces.   
    
“Uhm… About ten years, I think? The snap kind of… messes with things.”   
    
She dribbles down, and aims for the hoop. Ned smiles.   
    
“And how long have you known?”   
“Uh…”   
    
She lets the ball drop.    
    
“I don’t… understand.”   
    
He rolls his eyes.   
“You guys are the worst.”   
    
She frowns.   
“What is _that_ supposed to mean?!”   
    
He turns the ball around, forcing her to face the big, black letters that are half faded into the gum.   
“ _’MJ + Peter’s_ ’? We’re really not going to talk about it?”    
    
She squints.   
“So what?”   
    
He groans, but it’s a noise she’s learned to recognize as concern, not annoyance. She braces herself for one of his now-famous Ned Truths:   
    
“MJ, you should tell him. You really should. Before he moves away, gets another girlfriend, and I have to see you pine over him all over again.”   
“I. Wasn’t. Pining. Over him,” she answers a second too late, and Ned raises an eyebrow at her.   
    
She will not blush. She absolutely refuses to.   
    
“Sure.”   
“We’re _friends_. Neighbors.”   
“And?”   
“It’s not like that! And he doesn’t see me that way,” she adds, almost bashful. Almost.   
    
“Did he tell you that?”   
    
“No?” she says, frowning.   
    
He shakes his head.   
“MJ…”   
    
She doesn’t want to hear it. She’s perfectly comfortable dealing with her feelings by herself. Ned makes everything feel too mushy, too… _real_.   
    
“There’s nothing to say, Ned.”   
    
It’s a lie, and they both know it. If you were to cut her up, dissect the parts of her brain into rolls and rolls of film, you’d only ever see him. His smile, his jokes. The way he bites his nails, but only on the right hand. People say you tend to love with rose colored glasses. When she thinks of Peter, she can only see in gold, the lazy September sun shining on their faces as the golden hour stretches upon them.   
    
She sighs, her shoulders lowering in defeat.   
    
For someone so small, he sure takes up all the space.

  
  
**~ &~**

  

“I can’t believe you did this,” Peter cries, and proceeds to cough.   
    
He’s sitting on her bed, the floral pattern jarring with the torn shreds of his suit. He's been beaten up pretty badly at this point, but they both know he won’t need much time to heal. Still, infections are real, so she dabs a cotton pad soaked in alcohol to make sure he’s not about to experience his first bout of spider-septicemia.   
    
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to drop everyone like that,” she says, “-And you should thank me. You had a pretty big blind spot there, Spidey.”   
    
He sighs.

  
“I just… If I get hit, I’ll heal in a couple of hours. Days, maybe. But if you do? MJ… That black eye is going to take weeks to look normal.”   
    
She shrugs. She knew what she was getting into the minute she’d grabbed that crowbar and hit Mysterio on the back of the head.    
    
He pushes hair away from her face, and she tries not to flinch.

“I don’t need saving,” she replies, a bit more harshly than she means to.   
    
He withdraws his hand, obviously taken aback. He frowns.

“I know that. I’ve always known that.”    
    
Sometimes she forgets he’s not made of steel, that he’s just a boy. She hates that the suit has that effect on her.   
Everyone thinks he’s invincible under that mask, but she should know better.   
    
“Look, Peter…” she starts.   
    
_Say it._   
_Just, say it._   
    
“It’s okay,” he says, his gaze soft, his mouth drawn into a thin smile.   
    
He always gives her an out.    
    
“Won’t your mom notice that all her pharmacy’s gone?’ he asks, fingers pressing into the gauze wrapping his ribs.    
“Should be fine. I’ll buy more tomorrow.”   
    
She tries to get up, only to sit back down, her face contorting itself in a vain attempt to mask her pain. He grimaces.   
    
“MJ, just- Just let me help, okay?” he says, eyes sad like a kicked puppy, holding out a hand for her.   
    
_Just accept it._   
_Let him in._   
    
She nods.   
    
“Fine.”   
    
He hoists himself closer to her, careful not to sit on the mountain of bandaids laid out on the blanket between them. His hands ruffle through the first aid kit to find an instant ice pack that he presses gently against the side of her face.   
    
She winces, but the cold feels good against her bruised skin.   
    
“I’m sorry.”    
    
She frowns.   
    
“What for?”   
“I just… If I’d been faster, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”   
    
Typical Peter Parker. Always taking the blame, always thinking he’s at fault somehow. That’s the biggest difference between them: He apologizes when he shouldn’t, and she never does, even when she wants to.   
    
“Both you and Happy specifically told me to leave ‘the premises’. And I stayed.”   
“And you stayed,’ he repeats, staring at his hands, “Why?”   
    
Flashes of her burning skin come back to her.   
Ashes floating around, and nothing to cling to.   
    
Disappearing into thin air.   
    
She shakes her head.   
    
“Guess I didn’t trust you to fight a clown wearing a fishbowl.”   
    
He gives her a look. A look that just _knows_ , but doesn’t ask.   
She bites her lip.    
    
Fine.   
    
“I was... tired of feeling powerless. I wanted to help. Feel like I had something under control, for once,” she admits, her voice turning into a quiet whisper as tears threaten to escape her eyes.   
    
He gives her a sad, knowing smile, and in another world, she probably would punch him on the shoulder for pitying her.   
But he’s been through enough, he’s seen enough for her to understand what he’s trying to say.   
    
“MJ…”   
“I know. It was kinda dumb.”   
“Yeah, it was. You could have died,” he sighs, his thumbs rubbing the bridge of his nose.   
“So could you!’ she retorts, feeling the bile in her gut rile up.    
    
She hates it when he plays the hero card on her.   
    
“MJ, I signed up for this, you didn’t. It’s as simple as that.”    
“Yeah, but when _you_ disappear, people notice,” she answers abruptly.   
    
He blinks, clearly shaken.   
    
“Your mom would notice. May and Ned would notice.”    
“Yeah, sure.”   
“ _I_ would notice.”   
    
She sighs.   
    
“Forget I said anything. I’m just tired.”   
“MJ…”   
    
He pauses, his fingers reaching towards hers only to stop an inch away from her hand.   
    
“You’re everywhere I look,” he says, his eyes locking with hers.   
    
Her mouth feels dry.   
    
“What?”   
    
What is she supposed to reply to something like that? Betty would know. Scratch that, _Ned_ would know.   
But she’s neither Betty or Ned. She’s MJ, just MJ, and she’s been known to be bad with feelings.    
    
She stares down at his hand, close, too close to hers.   
    
He licks his lips.   
    
A beat passes.   
Maybe two.   
    
Funny, from up close, his face doesn’t look nearly as bad as it is from far away. Under the contusions, you can kind of see the constellation of freckles adorning his cheekbones.   
    
She takes a deep breath, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering as her lips try to close the distance between them.   
    
There’s a ring, and then another.   
    
_Seriously?_   
    
They both freeze, and she closes her eyes.   
    
“You should take this,” she says, effectively breaking the moment.   
“N-No, I can-”   
“Take it,” she repeats, gently pushing him away.   
    
He stares at her for what feels like an excruciatingly long time, and presses answer.    
His phone doesn’t even need to be on speaker for her to hear Ned’s shrill screams of panic.   
    
“They lost all my hats!”   
“What? Ned, slow down,” Peter says, giving her a sorry glance.   
    
She smiles, a short, contrite grin that he doesn’t see.   
    
When he steps out of the window, he takes their moment away with him.   
****

 

**~ &~** 

 

  

He’s packing up.   
His room is, once again, filled with cardboard boxes, all labeled ‘keep’ or ‘donate’.   
    
She kicks one of them angrily.   
_Is she going to be kept?_   
    
_Or left behind?_   
    
She bites her lip.   
There’s no need to make a scene.    
    
This was always the plan.   
    
He was always meant to do great things, and so was she. She just conveniently chose to ignore the part where they were going to do it separately.   
    
Still, as the bedroom she’s always known -and will always know- as his gets progressively emptier, she can’t help but feel her stomach twist.    
    
‘When are you two leaving, again?’ May asks as Ned grabs one of the boxes.   
‘Next week! We just wanted to get a head start,’ Peter answers.   
‘You better not leave without giving me a proper Goodbye!’ May laughs, ruffling his hair, and she wants to ask her how she manages to be so chipper.   
    
Ned walks past her, bumping his hip against hers with a wink, and MJ gives him what she hopes is a convincing smile. Peter follows suit, practically running down the stairs.   
    
She looks down at the boxes again.   
    
“I’d let Peter carry that one if I were you, it’s full of encyclopedias,” May chimes in.   
‘Don’t they have wifi in their dorm?’    
    
May grins.

“They’re _Star Wars_ encyclopedias.”   
    
MJ scoffs.

“Figures.”   
“I’m going to get iced tea for the boys, do you want some?”   
    
She shrugs.

“Sure.”   
    
She doesn’t really like iced tea. Or at least, the way May does it. It’s sweet, yet somehow manages to leave a bitter aftertaste.   
But if there’s anything she’s learned from the Parker household, it’s that May is a force to be reckoned with, and she’s better off drinking the damn tea.   
    
She follows her to the kitchen, taking a look at the walls of her hallway, still covered with her -embarrassingly bad- art from age twelve to seventeen.   
    
“I didn’t realize you kept all of these.”    
“Of course I did! They’re great. I have a couple more in my bedroom, you know,” May answers fondly.   
    
Her throat feels tight.

“Thanks, May.”   
    
May’s always believed in her, always made her feel… _seen_.   
They have that in common, Peter and her.   
    
“I still show Pete that eighth-grade portrait you did when he gets too mouthy, you know? Keeps him humble.”   
    
MJ smirks.   
    
“How is he going to survive without you?”   
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”   
    
She blushes.   
    
“Oh he’s done it before. He’ll be fine.”   
    
May grabs her hand, squeezing it slightly.   
    
“What about you?”   
“I…”   
    
Her heart starts pounding.   
    
_Ashes are floating around her._   
_Her backyard is covered with them._   
    
_She tries to clutch to the white fence between their houses._   
    
_She’s gone._   
    
She takes a deep breath.   
    
“I’ll be fine.”

  
  
**~ &~**

  
    
It’s past midnight when she wakes up in a sweat, limbs shaking, tears rolling down her face uncontrollably.   
    
She counts to ten, trying to remember what that stupid school therapist had taught them in group.   
    
_Think of something that calms you. Create a quiet, safe space for your thoughts._   
    
Her backyard. The swing set. Peter’s uneven eyebrow. None of them are exactly safe anymore.   
    
_Focus on an element beside you, it could be a leaf, a piece of gum on the pavement, anything, really._   
    
She stares at her window. Outside, the leaves of the planetree rustle, shining almost silver into the night.   
That should do the trick.   
    
Slowly, too slowly, her heartbeat starts quieting down.   
    
It’s been months. She should be doing better. She _told_ everyone she was getting better.   
She glances down at her hand, unsure of what she should be seeing. Is it really crumbling into dust, or is she just making that up again?   
    
She breathes in, and out. She knows the pain is in her head. She knows she’s back, that Thanos is gone, Peter’s told her he’s gone. He’s seen it first hand, yet she can’t help but feel like he might be wrong. Time travel is real, so at this point anything could fly, really.   
    
She fumbles through her bag, trying to find her phone.   
    
She said she wouldn’t do it.   
She said she didn’t need to be saved.   
    
Her finger presses call.   
    
“Hey, MJ.”   
    
And she breathes again.   
    
“Hey, Peter.”   
“You sound weird. Is everything okay?”   
    
Can he hear the frantic thud of her heart too? It’s certainly loud enough for her to barely hear what he’s saying.   
    
“Funny you should ask that, because I’m not feeling so good right now.”   
    
It’s all she can think about. It’s the last thing she felt on earth. And no matter how she looks at it, it’s still how she feels to this day. The pain of it feels heavy, and it spins around, bouncing off the walls of her ribcage. Is she about to disappear again? She looks down at her fingers. Is she even alive?   
    
What was even the point of coming back?   
    
“Do you want me to come over?”   
    
_Yes. Please, help me. I’m going crazy in here._   
    
“No! I mean, I’ll be fine.”   
“You don’t sound okay, MJ.”   
    
_I don’t feel so good._   
    
“I’ll be okay! I promise.”   
    
_I don’t wanna go._   
    
There’s a pause, and he sighs.   
    
“You always do this. You push me away. I wanna help you. _Please, let me help you._ ”   
    
She wants to let him in. She needs someone to be there, and she wants it to be him.    
    
Right now, she’s alone and terrified. She’s dying, she can feel it, she remembers it so vividly her bones are still aching from the pain.   
    
She doesn’t want him to be hurt again. He’s lost so many people. They’ve almost lost each other.   
    
“I just…”   
“Please?”   
    
She sighs. She’s never been able to refuse him anything anyway.   
“Okay.”

  
**~ &~**

  
    
She sits, hesitant, in front of her window. She hasn’t let him since the vanishing, and it makes her nervous. There’s a lot unsaid behind that wall, and she isn’t prepared to deal with it in the slightest.   
She swallows, hard, her hand shaking as she pushes the window open.   
    
When he steps into her bedroom, her heartbeat gets so loud she can barely hear herself think.   
    
He’s there, he’s _really there._   
    
“Hey, Pete,” she hears herself say.   
    
She’s promised she’d never shed another tear, but her eyes well up all the same.   
    
It’s okay, she tells herself. It’s Peter. He’s safe.   
    
“Can I hug you?” he asks.   
    
She laughs, a strange strangled sound. Always so. Damn. Polite.    
She nods.   
    
He puts his arms around her, and she finally remembers she’s alive.   
There’s a beating heart against hers, the same one she’s known all her life, and it brings her comfort.   
    
He hugs her, rocking back and forth, whispering random things into her ear.   
    
Stupid things he shouldn’t say, like, “I’m here, I’ll _always_ be here,” or, “It’s gonna be okay.”   
She tries not to think too much about it.    
    
She knows, though.   
    
She was so sure she’d never let him in again.   
Yet, it hadn’t even taken him a month to reclaim his spot in a heart she’d fiercely doused in gasoline. He’d crawled in, content like a street cat to find the window to her place wide open, waiting for him.   
    
They sit like that, entangled in one another for what may as well be hours, or minutes. All she knows is that eventually, she quiets down enough to fall asleep against him, nose nudged against his collarbone.   
    
****

**~ &~**   
  

Her face feels sore. Correction, she thinks as she stretches, her whole body feels sore, and it takes her eyes some time to adjust to the morning light.    
Turning to her side, she stares at her bedroom.   
    
The walls, previously covered with book fair posters and drawings she’s done are now devoid of all emotion. Much like the rest of her life, her shelves are disorganized, a mess of old school books and a couple tee-shirts and jeans.   
    
She doesn’t belong there anymore, she realizes with a pang of sadness.   
    
Something on the carpet moves, and she almost jumps out of bed before remembering Peter actually came over. Over the night, he’d somehow managed to build himself a makeshift bed with scarves and pillows, his body covered with a blanket he’s furiously clinging to.   
His hand extends to the edge of her bed, holding on to her sheets.   
    
In the morning light, he’s as beautiful as a Pre-Raphaelite painting, but then again, Peter always is. Even perfectly still with his nose buried in the pillow he’s hugging, he radiates life. His brows are furrowed,  his mouth pouting and she stifles a laugh.   
    
Everything around her has changed, but he still snores all the same.   
    
She smiles, sliding down her bed as quietly as she can to crouch down next to him.   
She almost brushes a strand of hair off his forehead, but she stops herself before touching his face. The gesture catches her off-hand, like a reflex she’d forgotten about. Natural, normal. It feels right.   
    
She frowns.

  
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I didn’t want to wake you.”   
    
She stands in front of him, not knowing if she needs to take a step back, or a step forward.   
He tugs at her shirt.   
    
“What are you doing? Come here.”   
    
A step forward it is.   
    
They’re too big to both lie comfortably on his makeshift bed, so she tries not to move too much.   
Her breath hitches. It’s fine. They’re going to be fine.    
    
“You’re my best friend, you know that, right?” he says, eyes half closed, and it sounds more like something else.   
“Don’t tell Leeds that,” she chuckles.    
    
She ruffles his hair, roughing him up like they used to, and he laughs.   
    
She should feel that familiar pang in her stomach, the pain of being his friend, and only his friend.    
But he looks into her eyes, open, inviting, and suddenly things start making sense.   
    
“You’re my best friend too,” she says, and it sounds more like an “I love you.”   
    
They could be kissing. They could be holding hands, her head buried in the crook of his neck.     
He could call her his girlfriend. They could go on a date, watch a dumb movie and get dinner afterward.   
    
They could do all these things, but they don’t need to, for now.   
    
“I love you,” he whispers.   
“I know.”   
    
She kisses him, then.   
His lips are much softer than she thought they’d be.   
****

 

**~ &~** 

  
    
And so life goes on. There are bad days, and there are good days.   
Lots of kisses, of hugs, and heads buried in the crook of a neck.   
    
A little bit down the road, there’s a house, like many others. White picket fence, the paint job being eaten by years of sun and water damage, a hoop above the garage door.   
In the backyard, an old swing set miraculously holds up, rust slowly breaking it apart.   
    
And later, much later, there’s a kid, too.   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos & comments are always appreciated, but if you wanna holla, I'm over at [@q_constellation](https://twitter.com/q_constellation) on twitter!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos give me fuel to write so feel free to leave some!!! <3


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